Started with a perfect kiss then

We could feel the poison set in

Perfect couldn't keep this love alive

You know that I love you so

I love you enough to let you go

I want you to know that it doesn't matter

Where we take this road, someone's gotta go

And I want you to know, you couldn't have loved me better

But I want you to move on, so I'm already gone.

-Kelly Clarkson

Draco walked out of Harry's room, wringing his hands beneath the sleeves of his robes, and paying particular attention to the straightness of his shoulders as he walked. He had to be careful not to show anybody that he squirming with anxiousness on the inside. He had to remain calm and cool, just like he'd planned.

He didn't have to walk far to get to the Ginger and his Mudblood girlfriend. Before he'd gone to see Harry, he'd told Granger that he needed to talk to she and her goonish boyfriend. Luckily enough she had chosen to ignore the insult and actually listen to what he had said, which was a pretty big step up from the reaction he normally got—namely a hex, coupled with an unintelligent insult or two. They were currently standing close together on the edge of the hallway, talking in hushed tones about something Draco was sure he didn't care to know about.

Their conversation stopped, however, when Draco got within hearing distance. He twisted his expression into his best sneer as he closed the final distance between them, making sure he was just close enough to be intruding on their personal space. He smiled as they flinched back slightly.

"Glad you both decided to show up for our little get together," Draco drawled, his lips curling at the edges.

Weasley simply glared at him like a buffoon, which was probably a result of not having anything productive to say.

"What did you want to meet us for, Malfoy?" Granger asked, in her annoying calculated manor.

"Oh I was just mulling over how brilliant it would be if the three of us started up a band. I could be the devastatingly handsome lead singer, Granger could be my backup singer that was secretly my squeeze, and Weasley," Draco gestured vaguely, "you could play the tambourine or something. You seem like a tambourine kind of guy."

"Malfoy," Weasley said his name through clenched teeth, and Draco was reminded of the sound of grinding gears.

"We could call ourselves Felix and the Death Eaters. You see, it's funny because nobody in our group is named Felix, and the name is sexually ambiguous enough to really make things complicated for the media."

"Malfoy, stop being ridiculous," Granger chided.

Draco shook his head and crossed his arms. "Merlin, without Potter in your group you two are a real pair of sticks in the mud you know that?"

Granger threw him a sharp glare. "Tell us what this is about or we're leaving. We're supposed to be visiting Ginny right now."

"Fine." Draco sneered. "I wanted to talk to you two about Harry."

Weasley growled. "What about him?"

Draco leveled the Ginger with a cool leer, and his face abruptly went scarlet. "I wanted to talk to you about what to do with him, before this whole ordeal gets too out of hand."

This seemed to perk Granger's interest. "Before what gets too out of hand?"

"Everything," Draco replied shortly. "I think you'll both agree when I say that everything that has happened over this summer has been hard on him…and probably even harder on Ginny. This wasn't how everything was supposed to happen after the war ended."

"No," Granger agreed, her eyes darting over to look at Weasley before returning to Draco once more. "But that's not exactly something we can change, so what is it that you're suggesting?"

"We may not be able to change what happened, but we can change what they think happened." Draco allowed a small moment of silence, if only so that the statement he'd just made could better sink in. He was surprised his voice had remained so calm. His stomach felt like ship caught in a storm, rising and plummeting so fast that it was hard to keep his balance. At least he hadn't lost his touch.

Granger, of course, was the first to catch on. "You want us to…obliviate them?"

"No way," Weasley shook his head, his blue eyes growing large. "No way we're doing that."

"Just think about it for a second, Weasel," Draco snapped, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Your sister is lying in there right now driving herself half mad with guilt. Don't try to deny it." Weasley remained silent, but his shoulders had gone tense. "And Harry will be the same way soon. He had to kill Tom with his own hands, and trust me when I say that nothing is ever going to make that right for him. He's going to be stuck with that memory, and it will haunt him every day for the rest of his life. And as for Ginny, chances are she'll never be able to look Harry in the eye again. She knows that the last spell she performed was a killing curse meant just for him. So tell me, what's the point of them remembering? What do they gain?"

Granger and Weasley exchanged another cryptic glance. Suddenly, Granger's mouth quirked. "I understand doing it to Ginny—what happened to her was beyond horrible—but Harry too? You do realize what that would mean."

"Yes, Granger, I do." Draco tried to keep his voice level, but he could tell that his control was beginning to break. Just don't think about him. "I know that he would forget me—that he would hate me again."

"And you still want to do it?"

"All the more reason I should want to!" Draco couldn't help the snarl that pulled at his mouth. He crossed his arms over his chest stiffly, willing himself not to shake.

He could feel Weasley's piercing cerulean gaze boring into him. "I thought," his voice was suddenly soft and gentle, "that you loved him."

The words sent a chilling tremor through Draco's body, straight into his stomach. It felt like he was falling, hard and fast through the floor and there was nothing below to catch him. Draco closed his eyes for a long moment before he opened him again, his resolve wavering. "I do love him. And I love him enough to know that I'm not good for him. I love him enough to know that he deserves a beautiful life, and that I can't give him that. He loved your sister once, didn't he? Before the war?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Then let him have the chance to really be happy—to live that charmed Gryffindor apple pie life he fought so hard for. He can't have it with me—both of you know that. An ex Death Eater becoming domestic with the savior of the wizarding world? There's no way it would work. The person that he ends up with—it was never supposed to be me."

Weasley frowned stupidly, "But…he loves you."

Draco cried out in frustration, flinging his arms into the air and marching in a heated circle. "You damn stubborn Gryffindors! Why can't you understand this? I manipulated him. It. Was. My. Job. It was my job to get him to go along with Tom's little plan so that I could get the Elder Wand! He was under the influence of a love spell for Merlin's sake! And you think he actually loves me?" Guilt surged through him like a shock. Of course he knew that Harry loved him. But this wasn't about whether Harry loved him or not. This was about something more—something Harry would never allow himself to have as long as Draco was in the way. A family. "He'll realize it one way or another: that something is not quite there, that something is missing. And by then it will be too late. Don't you see?"

Granger and Weasley weren't looking at him anymore. They were looking at the ground, their faces stretched with mirrored frowns of misery.

"If we do this, everything can go back to normal again," Draco said, because it was the last ounce of leeway he had over them.

At that, Weasley's eyes flicked up. Shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, he leaned heavily against the wall. "Are we talking memory replacement here, or just the straight spell?"

"Ron!" Granger flared, turning on him incredulously. Weasley, however, paid her no mind.

Draco didn't know if it was possible, but his heart seemed to leap up and fall like a stone in his chest at the same time. "With Ginny I think you could easily take out certain aspects and replace them with simple memories." Draco felt his stomach tighten nervously, but he held tight to his blank expression. "With Harry, I don't think it will be as simple. We're going to have to wipe everything."

Granger glanced between the two boys, looking half wild. "And tell him what?"

Draco rounded on her. "Something. Anything! Tell him he fell down a flight of stairs and hit his head! Tell him he fell off his broom! What does it matter?"

"It does matter," Weasley said, sounding much calmer than he looked. "We're going to have to keep our story straight if this is actually going to work."

Granger grabbed at Weasley's sleeve. "Ron!" she exclaimed, tears growing in her large chocolate colored eyes. "We can't possibly be considering this!"

"How can we not, Hermione?" Weasley grabbed both of his girlfriend's hands in his own, and Draco just barely suppressed an eye roll. "I know why you don't want to, but—Merlin help me for saying this—I think Malfoy may be right on this one. You've seen yourself how bad Ginny is. Mum and Dad are about at their wits end with worry. And Harry…Hermione you heard how he's been screaming in his sleep all week. How far are we supposed to let all of this go before we step in and do something about it?"

Silent tears were rolling down the reddened curves of Granger's cheeks. She pulled her hands back to wipe them away, nodding slowly. "Fine. Fine, we'll do it. But, Malfoy—"

Draco, who had been busy inspecting the damage his neglected fingernails had suffered, looked at Granger, but didn't bother to appear interested.

"You know that there's no going back on this."

Draco arched a brow, even as the words shot him straight through. "I'm aware, yes."

"There is no reversing a memory spell. All your memories with Harry—once lost, they'll be lost forever."

"Thank you for spelling that out for me, Granger. Fancy I passed fifth year without you at my side."

Granger shook her head, her nose wrinkled in disgust. "So how do you want to do this?"

"You two take care of the little Weaselette however you see fit," Draco drawled with an absent shrug, "just make sure everyone knows the plan and gets it straight."

"And Harry?" Weasley asked.

Draco bit back the sorrow rising in his throat. "Give me tonight with him," he said slowly, staring at the wall. It was so white—so perfectly blank. "I'll do the spell myself. Whatever you tell him in the morning is up to you—no need to tell me the details. And after that I'll be out of your hair, and you can go off and live your charming, sickeningly cliché, lives." Unable to bare standing there for another second, Draco turned on his heel and marched back down the hall back towards Harry's room. He didn't bother to look back.

The hours with Harry passed with a sweet slowness, but as far as Draco was concerned, they didn't pass anywhere near slowly enough. The two lay together in Harry's bed, limbs intertwined, gazing out the window that Draco had charmed on the far wall. Dusk was nearly past, and the final lingering rays of the sun stretched over the horizon in vibrant hues of red and orange. Draco couldn't help but think that his life as he knew it was setting with that sun. His father was dead, and he was about to lose the only other person he'd ever allowed himself to cherish.

Harry sighed contently, curling his head deeper into the crook of Draco's neck.

Draco stroked his hair, silently admiring how soft it felt as it sifted through his fingers. He was doing the right thing. He knew he was. Harry was better off without someone like him in his life. Draco knew he would never be able to forgive himself for what he'd done, but this at least, was a step in the right direction. Harry would get what he deserved…and so would he.

"Hey, Draco?" Harry's arm tightened around his stomach.

"Yes?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"You," Draco replied honestly. He ran his free hand along the length of Harry's arm, liking the way he could feel its warmth even through his shirt. It was always that way with Harry—he was always so warm.

"Me too—about you I mean." Suddenly, Harry lifted himself from Draco's shoulder, turning so that he was propped up with one hand on either side of Draco's waist.

Draco didn't know why, but those green eyes never seemed to fail at making his heart skip. They always seemed to stare at him with such unyielding determination—emeralds shaped by the years of darkness he'd seen. He was so young—too young—to have eyes like that.

"Draco," Harry said his name slowly, like it was something sacred to him, "I want something that's ours."

Draco frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, like, I want something I can say to you and you can say to me, that nobody knows about but us. Something special."

The strings of Draco's heart vibrated with a pang of misery, even as he made his lips stretch into an amused smirk. "Why in the world do you want something like that?"

"I just do."

"Harry," Draco took Harry's right hand with his left, pressing them together so their fingers and palms aligned. "I love you."

Harry smiled, that beautiful smile that always lit his whole face. "For always?"

Draco smiled back. "Forever."

Harry leaned in to kiss him then, and Draco could feel the pressure building behind his eyes. He closed them tightly and brought his other hand up to cup Harry's cheek, trying not to think about anything but the wonderful soft weight of the warm mouth against his own. Harry made a small pleasured sound, somewhere in the back of his throat, and it vibrated against Draco's lips and curled heatedly down his spine. Merlin, no one had ever made him feel even close to this with just a kiss before. He felt so aware—so alive, like Harry was the sole possessor of the key to some secret door in his heart he'd never even known existed.

He needed to feel every part of Harry again. Just once more. Just this one last time.

Draco ran his hand along Harry's chest where he knew the other boy's bandage to be, wishing he could feel skin instead of the cloth of the scratchy hospital pajamas. Harry shuddered against him nevertheless. Draco pulled back from the kiss, releasing a small breath. "How's your injury?"

"You've already asked me a million times," Harry replied, his voice low and laden with a heavy desire. "I've told you, it's fine now."

"Good," was all Draco could manage to say before he pulled Harry back to him, crushing their lips together once more. He separated their hands to grab at Harry's back, forcing their bodies together. Draco's hips left the mattress as he ground their hips together, enjoying the not-so-subtle shuddering gasp it elicited from mouth he was tasting.

Harry responded eagerly, pressing back against him, rocking their hips together feverishly even as their tongues battled. Draco groaned into the kiss, feeling heat pulse through every inch of his body. He grabbed Harry tightly by the waist, forcing him down harder and faster. Harry's arms began to tremble at his sides, and he broke the kiss to pant heavily against Draco's lips. But there was no way Draco was going to let Harry go so easily. He brought one hand up to Harry's jawline, pressing up against it so he could get access to that silken tanned neck.

Slowly, he ran his tongue along the exposed skin, tasting salt and inhaling the heady smell of freshly mowed grass laced with citrus that was so uniquely Harry. Draco felt Harry shift as his tongue found that sensitive nub of nerves at the junction between his jawline and his neck. Smiling viciously, Draco nipped at the skin and was rewarded with a breathy moan. Harry's hips were still moving against his own, and Draco could feel his arousal thrusting firmly against his own, sending tiny shocks of electric pleasure shooting through his blood. Draco bit at the skin again, harder this time, and Harry barely restrained the whimper that shot up his throat.

Draco's mind was well fogged now, which he was more than thankful for. He felt like he was floating above it all, somehow. Now all he could think about was the beautiful heat that filled him and the feeling of the fleeting pulse that was racing under his lips. But he couldn't lose himself to it. Not yet. He needed to engrain this in his mind—burn it there so fiercely that the scar would never leave him. The way Harry's body felt against his own, hard and lithe and quivering with need. The way his back arched each time their hips came together, and the way his teeth nipped feverishly at Draco's ear. He wanted it all and more, because he knew that he would never have it again.

Draco brought Harry's lips to his own once more, lazily dragging his tongue across his bottom lip. Then Harry brought his hips down, hard, and Draco's vision burst into white. Heat soared through him, curling up his throat and spilling over his lips in the form of a breathless moan.

"Harry," Draco whispered, his words separated by each movement of Harry's body against his own. "I want you inside me."

At that Harry stilled, and Draco barely suppressed a growl.

Harry pulled back, looking at him with wide, green eyes. "What?"

Draco's hand tightened on Harry's hip, and he thrust up against him, if only to make a point. "You heard me."

"But…I've never—"

"Harry," Draco nipped at Harry's bottom lip. "Clothes. Off. Now."

Harry sat up, his legs still straddling Draco's waist. Draco sat up with him, taking a silent moment to admire the intense look of concentration on Harry's face as he tried to undo the buttons of his pajamas with shaking hands. With a smirk, Draco reached out and pushed Harry's hands away. Harry looked at him, his eyes greener than a field of clover in summer, and Draco held his gaze steadily, his nimble fingers making easy work of the first button. His hands worked their way down, taking the time to gently caress every inch of newly exposed skin. He could feel Harry's chest rise and fall in uneven breaths, and the way his heart pounded against his ribcage. When he was done, Draco raised his hands back up to push the cloth from Harry's shoulders. The shirt fell around his waist with barely a whispering sound.

Draco lowered his gaze then, watching his hands as they trailed over the dips of Harry's collarbone, down over the smooth planes of his chest, broken only by the soft cloth that still covered his wound. Draco's hands traveled over it before moving lower, his fingers gliding along the ridges of Harry stomach and spreading out to feel the sharp curve of his hipbones. He was so beautiful.

"Draco," Harry breathed.

Draco looked back up, his brows coming together at the sight of Harry's frown. His hands stopped. "What is it, Harry?"

"Draco," Harry seemed to struggle, "…is something wrong?"

Draco's mouth quirked. Had he really been so obvious? Oh, if only he could say. If only he could tell Harry of the things that plagued him now. Why did it always seem to be like this? Why was it that there was always something to hide? "No. Of course not." Draco forced a smile on his lips. "Why would you think something is wrong?"

"It's just," Harry rolled his lip under his teeth nervously, "are you sure you want me to—"

Draco silenced him with a kiss. When they parted, his breath was hot against Harry's lips. "I'm sure."

And without further hesitation, he was kissing Harry once more, melding their lips together as if he could somehow imprint the sensation on his skin. His hands made quick work of his own robe and shirt, and he tossed them to the ground, where they landed with a soft whoosh of cloth. Draco leaned back once more, and pulled Harry with him. Thin fingers slid down Harry's torso, memorizing the way it felt, smoother than the surface of a still lake, but so warm, as if the sun's heat had become trapped beneath his skin. Draco's hands found the hemline of Harry's bottoms, and their kiss broke with a hitched breath.

With a feral smile, Draco shucked the trousers down, enjoying the way the other boy was now panting against him. But Harry's hands were moving too, trailing along his skin like live flames, branding him with heat. They found Draco's belt, and began working fruitlessly with the clasp. Draco couldn't help but chuckle, because it was so typical of Harry—to be so hopelessly clumsy in the heat of the moment.

Draco moved to help him, and together they kicked off the remainder of the clothing that separated them.

And Draco knew he would never forget that blissful moment when their bodies met in full, hot and already slick with anticipation. His hands traveled up and down Harry's back, trailing along the ridges of his spine and pulling him in even closer. Their tongues met and battled, neither willing to relinquish anything to the other. And then, Harry's hips moved, and Draco's whole body was rocked with a pulse of pure ecstasy.

Their bodies slid against each other, the line between them so seamless that Draco was sure the heat would weld them together. Harry's tongue slid languidly against his own, even as they moaned softly into each other each time their hips met. And everything seemed to all blur together at once—the feeling of Harry's chest, so hard against his own, the sound of Harry's voice as he murmured Draco's name against his lips, and this feeling of utter completeness that had him filled to the brim. It was too much, and Draco couldn't take it anymore.

"Harry," his voice broke with emotion, "please." He hated what Harry had reduced him to, yet at the same time it made him tremble with a heady yearning. Somehow, Harry had wormed his way into Draco's heart. He had kept it safely encased for so long, deep down in the coldest depths of his darkness, that he'd thought no one could ever hope to reach it. But Harry had. The truth was, it was Harry who'd saved him from the empty shell he'd allowed himself to become. No one else could've done it, Draco was sure of that much. It had to be Harry. It was always Harry.

More out of habit than actual thought, Draco muttered a lubrication charm, and hissed as he felt the spell coat him. Harry's hand ran up and down Draco's thigh, and the Slytherin could tell he was waiting for instruction.

Tenderly, Draco took the other boy's hand in his own, guiding it down, smiling when he felt Harry's pulse quicken. He couldn't deny that he enjoyed the simple innocence that Harry still clung to. After all the horrors he'd seen and endured, this at least was left untainted. And Draco knew that it belonged to him, and him alone—that this, what they were to each other now, could never be taken from him. It was enough for Draco to know that much, at least. It was enough to know that this memory was his forever, and to know that in his whole life he had been truly loved at least once. And it was so much more than he had ever hoped for…so much more than he had ever dreamed.

"Draco," Harry murmured against his ear, stretching his fingers and pressing their hips together once more. "I love you. Merlin, I love you so much."

Draco closed his eyes, unable to keep them open any longer. All he wanted was to get lost in the delicious friction that existed between them, and let himself fall into the sweeping moment that had been calling him for so long now. "Harry," he said, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Don't make me wait anymore."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. Exhaling forcefully, he pressed his body into Draco's. A shock stronger than any stunning curse he'd ever encountered shot through him, lancing up is spine and making his back bow. His hands jerked up to grasp at Harry's shoulders, his nails digging mercilessly into the skin there. Harry kissed his ear gently, muttering words strung together with love even as he trembled in his effort to remain still.

But Draco didn't want him to be still. He pulled Harry in deeper, and together both boys gasped, holding each other tight. Pain raced through Draco's nerves, but it was so different from how he remembered it. Instead of pleading him to stop, his body seemed to beg for more—more of this brilliant heat that was turning his blood to fire.

Harry thrust again and again, and the room was so quiet it seemed to envelope their keening moans as they rang through the still air. And Draco wondered if this was what it was like to feel complete, to have every part of himself filled and not needing anything more. Because he could feel more than just Harry's body and how his arm was wrapped around his back, cradling him close as if he would never let go. He could feel more than the way their skin slid together, glistening with sweat and their muscles shaking as every part of them seized up with unbridled passion. He could feel more than just himself, so close and still wanting more.

He could feel Harry's love.

Draco could feel it, pouring in to him, real and electric as the live magic flowing through his veins. It made his throat tighten and his pulse race. He'd never felt so…alive.

"Draco," Harry repeated, over and over again, as if it was the only word his tongue remembered how to form.

Something was rising in him, hard and fast like a raging river ready to burst through a dam. Draco's entire body was surging, undulating with each cry that tore through Harry's throat. He knew it was all going to end soon. And, Merlin help him, he wanted to stop it—to make this one moment last forever. But he could no sooner stop this than he could stop breathing.

With a strangled cry, Harry's back arched, every muscle in his body tensing even as Draco's vision exploded into white. Heat coiled and ripped through Draco's body, tearing through him like lightning tears through the sky, igniting everything at once in one brilliant flash. And all too soon he was falling back down—back into the small white room where reality sat waiting for him.

Harry fell on top of him, pressing a soft kiss into his neck, and Draco could feel his lips curling into a smile. "I love you, Draco."

Draco hummed contently, running his fingers up and down the smooth planes of Harry's sweat moistened back. "I love you too, Harry."

"For always?" Harry took Draco's hand and pressed it flat against his own.

Draco opened his eyes, and saw that Harry was looking at him, his green eyes hooded with lethargy but still gleaming with his inextinguishable Gryffindor trust. Draco's own eyes traced the curve of Harry's smile, moving down along the curve of his chin to admire the strong, sturdy line of his jaw, up to the gentle rise of his rose stained cheeks, and back to finally meet that glowing emerald gaze once more. He knew that this would be the last time he would ever see Harry look at him like that, with every part of his expression positively glowing with love, but he smiled back anyway, because he couldn't help but feel lucky to have ever even seen Harry look at him that way in the first place. That look was never meant for him, but somehow knowing that…made it all the more precious. "Forever, Harry."

It was almost morning now.

Draco sat, glaring at first rays of sun that were just starting to peak over the distant horizon. Harry, meanwhile, was fast asleep, curled against his side with one arm draped over his stomach, clueless to the fact that this particular sunrise would change both of their lives forever.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see his wand on the side table. He had been sure to place it there earlier, knowing that he would need it. Calmly, and with a mechanical like stiffness, Draco reached over and grabbed the wand. The second his fingers touched the wood his heart clenched with a pang of remorse. But he refused to think about it. If he thought about it, he knew he wouldn't be able to do it.

He brought the wand close to his chest, his left hand squeezing it tightly as the right came up to gently fist Harry's hair. How soft it felt under his fingers, shining gold like ink reflecting sunlight. But no, Draco abashed, don't…

His left hand began to quiver, and for some reason he couldn't help but think of the mark that marred his wrist—a constant reminder of the darkness he could never seem to escape. It was the physical reminder of the childhood he'd left behind, and the path he'd chosen. It was the proof that there would always be a part of him that would be in direct opposition to Harry's light. So he had to do this, even if it destroyed him.

Draco inhaled deeply, meaning to clear his mind, but instead his senses were assaulted with the crisp clean smell of grass, and the fresh scent of lemon soap. He knew that smell by heart—knew it by hate just as much as love. His fingers moved down to brush against the nape of Harry's neck, aching to feel the heat that bare skin promised. Tenderly, Harry sighed against him, his breath rolling over Draco's stomach, tickling the fine hairs there and causing him to shiver.

How was it that Harry could torture him even while he slept?

He just had to not think about it. He couldn't. He couldn't think about what it had been like to feel his heart leap at the brush of a hand, or how the sound of his first name spilling over Harry's lips made his pulse fly. He couldn't think about how, for once in his life, he finally knew what it was like to care more about somebody else than himself. He couldn't think about how Harry had been the first person to look at him, and make him feel as if he really existed. Harry had shown him all that and more. There was no describing it—everything that Harry was to him—how wrong it all had been, and how earth-shatteringly perfect.

But that's why he had to do this. Because for once, he wasn't going to allow himself to be selfish. Harry was so beautiful, and he deserved so much.

In the surreal silence, Draco raised his wand to Harry's temple, knowing he was about to make both the worst and the best decision of his life. If he did this…there was no going back. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling wetly down his cheeks as the soft fatal word formed on his lips, "Obliviate."

-FIN-

A/N: Ok! Before you kill me...there is a sequel!

But I want to thank everyone who read this story (before and after the October 2015 revamp!) and reviewed and helped me along the way! I hope that a lot of you weren't reading the story in the middle of all the updates I made. If you end up making it this far, um, well yes I'm very sorry for any confusion! The epilogue to this story is coming soon, and will be followed by the sequel revamp.